Chapter 11 September-November 1771
While I respected my brother much, there were still many things, which I did not understand about him. First of all, there were his blue eyes. Those blue eyes, which bore holes into me even now, and which had the same fire in them as Chris' had. That fire, that want for freedom. But there was also something else in his eyes: a deep, haggard sadness, which I could never understand.
A few months after I saw Charles at the Loyalist social, I had visited Miss Mather many times, and seen Charles often. He introduced me to the refined Patriot world, and I truly met those men, who I had so many times delivered messages for with Chris. It was always understood by everyone that I saw, that I was really at Miss Mather's house doing sewing, and was not speaking with any of these Whigs.
I met John Hancock, the rich young merchant, and Sam Adams, the frail, spidery politician, who was said to be the brains behind all of the Whig activities in Boston. The two of them were a good team: Sam Adams made the plans, and John Hancock paid the bills.
I would have enjoyed seeing James Otis again, but his insanity had taken over too much, and he had been taken out of Boston. He had been so passionate, and so moving. It was he who had started the Long Room Club, along with many of the other Whig societies in Boston.
John Adams was a jolly little man, who was so far mostly staying out of our dispute with the Mother Country. His views, though, were completely Patriot. Most of his friends were Patriots, and he his cousin was the great Sam Adams himself. I had not delivered many messages for Mr. Adams, but I liked him very much. The very expression in his eyes seemed to say "Come and talk with me. I'll always listen".
I saw Dr. Benjamin Church once or twice at one of Charles' dinners, but had never much liked him. There was always something unnerving about him, and I believe that Charles shared my opinion. I had always pictured him like a spider, ready at any moment to wrap me up in his sticky web of treachery.
When I first met Dr. Warren, Chris had introduced me to him. I liked him very much, and always jumped at an opportunity to deliver a message for him. He was always so kind, and, unlike the other Whigs who I delivered for, he had taken the time to become acquainted with Chris and I. He was also very attractive, with his blond hair, and deep blue eyes. Other than my brother Charles, Dr. Warren was the only one who had ever detected anything queer about the little messenger boy, Jemmy.
Dr. Warren first met Abby in September. After a few visits with Miss Mather, I specifically asked Charles if I might see Dr. Warren. He agreed, and told me he would arrange for an introduction to be made, which it was.
"Joseph, I would like you to meet my sister, Abby." I was at a small Whig dinner party, with a few of Charles' friends. Mr. Revere was there, along with John Adams and his wife Abigail, and Dr. Joseph Warren, and his fashionable wife.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Atkins," said Dr. Warren, as he looked at me with his deep blue eyes, and his kind, attractive smile. I felt I would melt under his gaze. Why did he even marry his wife in the first place? She was so snobbish, and unright for him!
I languished endlessly in my admiration for Dr. Warren. I was completely smitten with him. With his extraordinary good looks, and never-ending kindness and gentility, he almost symbolized the Patriot cause to me. It is men like Dr. Warren, I thought, who have started this Revolution, and will make sure that right is done in the end.
"What did you think of Mrs. Adams?" Charles asked, as he drove me back to Miss Mather's in his carriage.
"I liked her very much," I replied sincerely. Abigail Adams was a friendly and kind-hearted woman, who I immediately took a liking to. Her smile was just as her husband's, as if to say "I'll listen to you, and I'll understand". She knew her place as a good wife, but I sensed that she had much influence over her husband, and that should she lose that influence she would rebel, as I longed to do. I admired Mrs. Adams greatly, and hoped that I could live up to her standards someday, as I did share her name.
However, I also thought that Abigail Adams was too quiet, and calm. I knew that I could never be happy with her simple existence. Should I have been placed in that situation, I knew that I would try to make more of a difference in the Revolution, rather than sitting at home, and at most advising my husband. How young and naïve I was, to think that running in the streets and disgracing myself would do more good than the work which Mrs. Adams did.
"And how did you find Mrs. Warren?" Charles asked me, this time looking much more intent, and I knew that he suspected my feelings for Dr. Warren.
"I thought she was rather snobbish and dull, like a preening peacock," I said, always honest with my brother.
"Abby, half the girls in this town are smitten with him," Charles said, and he looked at me very sternly. "But I trust that you will act more appropriately than they do, throwing themselves at him as if he were not yet married." My cheeks had become a bright red by now, and I nodded meekly.
"Yes Charles," I said. "I shall act with the utmost decorum." We now reached my prison, and I quickly climbed out of the coach. I looked back at my brother, and I could see that he was sorely disappointed in me. Could he not understand, that when a person is smitten, that fact is not determined by whether or not the person they like is married or not, but they become smitten simply because they are?
I climbed the back steps, and watched him drive away. His jaw was stern and drawn, and I could see clearly that I had not only disappointed him, but I had supposedly proven to him, that I was just another Boston girl, with her frivolous ways and silly fancies.